Bad Moon Rising (20 page)

The judge sat back in his chair. “One last warning. If
you appear before me in such a fashion again, I will hold you in contempt.
Understood?”

“Understood, Your Honor.”

“That being said, I congratulate you on your case.
Fine job.”

“I suspect we haven’t heard the last of Mr. Pierpoint.”

“Unfortunately, I feel you’re right. Watch your back
with that one. He’s a nut.”

“I suspect
nut
is putting it mildly, Your Honor.”

They exchanged nods and grins, then J.D. left the
courtroom to be greeted by Penny Pierpoint and her jubilant parents. Penny was
a cute, petite, middle-aged woman whose crooked nose was evidence of her
husband’s abuse. The beating had hospitalized her for a week the year before.
She hugged him and wept on his suit coat. Her body shook.

“How can I thank you enough, Mr. Damascus?”

“Be happy, Penny. Love your kids. Get the hell out of New Orleans and don’t look back.”

Her gray-haired mother laughed. “You needn’t worry
about that. Their bags are packed and first thing in the morning we’re on a
plane to California. She and the children will live with us until she can get
on her feet and find a job.”

He thought of telling them all that two thousand miles
wouldn’t make much difference to a man like Pierpoint. One way or another, he
would insinuate himself into their lives again. But no point in stating the
obvious. They knew Sam would be a bone in their throats until hell froze over.
Let them enjoy this moment of victory for as long as it lasted.

“Well, well,” came the voice behind him. “J.D. Damascus.”

He turned and looked down into Anna Travelli’s sparkling
eyes. “I’ll be damned.”

“Nice job in there. There isn’t an attorney alive who
can work the opposition like you, except for Jerry, of course. Buy an old
friend a cup of coffee?”

“I have a few things to tie up at the office. If you
can tolerate May’s chicory, you’ve got a deal.”

One couldn’t appraise Anna Travelli and believe
for an instant that she had
the biggest pair of brass balls of any agent working for the FBI. Tall,
slender, and feminine, her face looked more worthy of a
Vogue
cover than a cop’s shield. She
could have passed as Nicole Kidman’s twin. Glorious red hair and bone
structure, skin as smooth and pale as a magnolia petal with just a sprinkling
of freckles across her nose. She didn’t so much as wince as she sipped May’s
black, bitter coffee. Then again, having spent the last ten years drinking the
garbage served up in police departments across the country, he was not surprised.

“You look like hell.” She regarded him with those eyes
that were as unnerving as they were beautiful. “Fighting again?”

J.D. touched the stitches on his chin. “Something like
that.”

“Jerry filled me in on the situation. I refrained from
rubbing it in his face. I’m sure he’s feeling shitty enough as it is. Just
spent the last couple of hours with the D.A. and Chief Killroy. Obviously the
department is keeping this as quiet as possible. One leak of these killings and
heads are going to roll. Which probably wouldn’t be a bad thing, considering. I
just don’t want Jerry’s to be one of them.”

“I can’t see any way around it, Anna.”

She nodded and shrugged. “He’s a big boy. I think he
can handle it. Truth is, it will be a relief for him. Whether you want to
believe it or not, he’s suffered these last few years from a bad case of
conscience
...
not to mention missing
you.” She smiled. “So how’s it going? Getting on with your life?”

“I’m still here. I guess so.”

“Anyone special in your life?”

“A woman, you mean?”

She nodded.

He thought of Holly. In the past, when asked that question,
he had readily responded, “No.” But the denial now froze on his lips, and he
felt stunned by it. Flustered. And he wasn’t a man who was easily flustered. At
least when it came to the women he had occasionally dated these last few years.

“Maybe,” he replied.

“Anyone I know?”

“I doubt it.”

“Potentially serious?”

He shrugged.

“Okay.” She smiled. “Damascus the enigma. Always a man
of few words, except in the courtroom.”

“Loose lips sink ships
...
or something clichéd like that.”

“So, we get down to business. The state executed the
wrong man. Or did it? Can we be certain our perp isn’t a copycat?”

“The signature is identical. He tortures first, then
murders. Decapitation, evisceration. As you well know, there were certain
aspects of the killer’s signature that were never made public.”

She nodded, her look becoming distant. She was headed
for that place where few other people ever ventured. Or knew how to. Into the
killer’s mind and psyche. When Quantico had first dumped her in the NOPD’s lap,
she had been confronted by total resistance from the department. They
considered profilers just one rung above psychics. Not that there wasn’t a
little of that going on as well in Anna’s mind, but she was bright enough not
to talk about it.

“We’ve established that our perp is a domineering
killer. He gets his rocks off inspiring fear in his victim. It gives him a
feeling of control and power that he otherwise lacks in his life. It’s been
established that our freak doesn’t have sex with his victims. That doesn’t mean
he isn’t experiencing orgasmic fulfillment. He probably masturbates during the
torture. Uses a condom to avoid leaving semen that could be used to DNA him.
Most likely, he undresses before he butchers her to avoid blood on his clothes—or
he brings a change of clothes. But he’s bright enough not to shower, knowing
the CSI unit could pick up any pubic hair from the drain that could be later
DNA-tested to nail him. He simply washes his hands of blood, redresses, and
quietly leaves. Discards the clothes elsewhere and showers at home, or
someplace else.

“He may or may not have had sex with these prostitutes
in the past. He may choose them at random, but I doubt it. He watches her for a
while. There is something about her that intrigues him. As I recall, most of
the girls he killed four years ago were very young. Not hardened as badly by
the life. Makes sense. A younger individual would be more intimidated by his
threats. The greater her fear, the greater his pleasure.

“He’s highly organized, obviously. Probably
college-educated and highly intelligent. Holds a white-collar job. Socially
competent. He probably was an only child, but if there were siblings, he was
the favorite. But only because he kissed ass a lot. More than he cared to.
Still does in his line of work. In short, he’s a yes man. Possibly looked over
for promotions he thought he deserved. Probably good-looking. Could charm the
rattlers off a snake.”

Anna set aside her cup of cold coffee, her dark green
eyes unblinking as she looked at J.D. “Which brings me to Laura and my real
reason for this visit.”

He frowned.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought these past years.
Toyed with it, really.” She cleared her throat, unnaturally discomposed for a
woman whose bluntness and getting to the point was renown. “I believe she knew
him, J.D. They may have even been lovers.”

The blood drained from his face as he sank back in his
chair.

“I’m sorry,” she said, briefly averting her eyes. “But
nothing else makes sense. Why she was out that late, at the park. They had
planned an assignation. She couldn’t find a sitter and took the kids with her,
leaving them asleep in the back of the car. Something happened to set him off.
Maybe she told him she wanted to end it. This type of individual wouldn’t take kindly
to getting dumped. Remember, he must be in control of the situation at all
times, and if not, he goes off.”

She shifted in her chair. “Your marriage was in
trouble. She wouldn’t be the first woman to look for love in all the wrong
places.”

“Christ.” He groaned as the onslaught of memories
rushed over him. Anna’s sympathetic voice drifted to him.

“Try to think back. For any clue that she had
something going on on the side. Did she stay out late? Get phone calls from
strangers? Behave nervously or guiltily?”

“No.” He shook his head, heat returning to his face to
make him sweat.

“Your son was in school during the day. What about
Lisa?”

“Day care half a day three times a week.” He took a
deep drink of his cold coffee, shivering from the bitterness. “We argued about
it. I thought she was too young. She was always picking up colds, and
...
Excuse me.”

He left his chair and exited the office, made his way
to the men’s room down the hall. He closed the door and locked it, braced his
hands on each side of the sink and tried his best not to vomit. Not possible.
Not Laura. Not with another man. She wasn’t the kind.

Right. Where was his head? He was a damn lawyer, for
Christ’s sake. There wasn’t a woman out there whose head couldn’t be turned by
some smooth-talking son of a bitch, particularly when she was in a bad
marriage. Feeling unloved and unappreciated. Her husband burying himself in
his work instead of his home life. Three quarters of the divorces today were
due to infidelity. What made him believe his was any different?

Could he have been that blind?

There came a knock on the door, and May called out, “You
okay in there?”

“Yeah.” He turned on the water and splashed his face.

“Ms. Travelli left. Said she’ll contact you later. And
you got a phone call from Chief Killroy. Says it’s important.”

J.D. dried his face and opened the door. May regarded
him skeptically. “Damn. You white as a ghost. Should I call a doctor again?”

“Hell, no.” As he returned to his office, May
followed, droning on about case files, clients’ unpaid balances, and the
escalating eviction threats from their landlord.

“And your mother called. Said she wants you to bring
Holly to dinner tomorrow. And Patrick has been suspended from school for a
week. Call Beverly as soon as possible. Woman is hysterical.”

He fell into the chair, reached for the phone, and
called Travis Killroy. “Damascus here. What’s up, Chief?”

“Then I take it you haven’t heard.”

J.D. didn’t like the sound of that. “Heard what?”

“Sam Pierpoint just walked into his ex-wife’s house
and blew her away, as well as their kids, her parents, and himself. So much for
restraining orders.”

Jean
Lancaster
was
pissed.
Then
again,
she
was
always pissed. She never spoke
below a level that didn’t force J.D. to hold the phone away from his ear.

“The bastard has cleaned out my checking account. All
of it. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

He only half listened, still too numbed by the news
about the Pierpoints. He kept seeing the joy in Penny’s eyes, the relief in her
parents’. And the kids. Two boys and a little girl. All gone. Just like that.
Then there was the conversation with Anna. The stinking possibility that Laura
had been unfaithful. That he might, just might, have been wrong these last four
years believing Tyron had murdered his family.

“Are you listening to me, Damascus? Maybe you’ll sit
up and take notice over the fact that now I can’t pay you.”

“I’m listening, Jean. Did I not specifically tell you
to close out that account—”

“I want him arrested.”

“No can do. The account was joint.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“It’s the law. What’s yours is his and his is yours.
At least until the divorce papers have been filed. Are you going to divorce him
now?”

“I’m going to kill the son of a bitch.”

“As your attorney, I wouldn’t advise that.”

May appeared at the door. “Beverly is on line two.”

“I’ll call her back,” he mouthed.

“Says it’s an emergency.”

He put Jean, still ranting, on hold. “What’s up, Bev?
I’ve got a client holding.”

“Patrick has been suspended from school, that’s what’s
up.”

“For what?”

“He taped a pornographic photograph to his teacher’s
desk.”

“Did you call Eric?”

“He drove up to Baton Rouge this morning. He won’t be
back until late this afternoon.” She took an unsteady breath. “His principal
wants to see me as soon as possible. I can’t go down there and face those
people alone, John.”

“You want me to go along.”

“Please.”

He glanced at the pile of case files on his desk, then
up at May, whose expression reflected her annoyance.

“Right. I’ll meet you at the school in half an hour.”
Hanging up the phone, he fell back in his chair, rubbed his throbbing head. “Sometimes
it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.”

“Um hmm. Don’t forget you got Jean holding on one.”

“Tell her I’ll call her back. On second thought,
nicely suggest she find herself a new attorney. And call my mom. Tell her that
Holly is coming.”

May smiled. “I like the sounds of that.”

“Yeah?” He stood and reached for the tie he had thrown
on the desk. “Don’t get excited. We’re just friends.”

“She’s a mighty pretty lady. And nice. Real nice.”

“She’s hell on wheels, May.”

“But she’s nice.”

“Right.” He grinned. “She’s nice.”

Dan Peterson, the dean of St. Michael’s School,
sat behind his massive desk
looking grim and flustered. He gingerly fingered the photograph as he glanced
at Beverly, then J.D. Finally, he slid the color glossy across the desk to
J.D.

“As you’ll readily see, there is just cause for these
actions, Mr. Damascus. The photograph is not only inappropriate, but also
highly disturbing.”

J.D. picked up the photograph, tilting it slightly so Beverly couldn’t see it. He stared at the image, his mind refusing to fully register what
he saw at first. It was a picture of a man sodomizing a woman’s naked and
mutilated corpse.

“I would say,” he began softly, “that inappropriate
and disturbing is putting it mildly.”

Beverly
, sitting on the edge of her chair, face chalk white,
extended her hand. “Let me see it.”

“No.” He folded it in half and tucked it into his suit
coat breast pocket.

“Of course we’ll hold a hearing regarding this unacceptable
behavior,” Peterson said. “St. Michael’s prides itself on the character of its
students. This is a fine, well-respected establishment. We accept only the
highest caliber of student here.”

“What are you saying?” Beverly glared at Peterson, her
eyes wide. “Are you permanently expelling my son?”

“That’s exactly what he’s saying.” J.D. took her hand.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, they can, Bev.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that.”

“Mrs. Damascus, your son needs counseling. Desperately.”

“My son is brilliant.”

“Yes. He is. Which makes this apparent problem all the
greater. Patrick has great intellectual potential. But emotionally,
psychologically, he’s a mess. I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed an angrier young
man. To be quite frank, I fear for the lives of the students as well as his
instructors. With such tragedies as Columbine looming over us all, we simply
can’t be too careful.”

“How dare you suggest that Patrick is capable of such
a heinous act.”

Peterson lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Damascus.
We’ll contact you next week and let you know our decision.”

Beverly
paced the den, wringing her hands as
tears streamed from her eyes. “Eric
is going to be furious.

This is the last straw. He’ll send him away, John. To
military school. A scandal like this could hurt his political aspirations.”

“This is hardly a scandal, Bev. Patrick wouldn’t be
the first politician’s kid to get into trouble. Besides, a little time away in
an institution where someone is willing to occasionally kick his butt might be
good for him.”

She turned on him, her eyes flashing. “I suppose this
is all my fault. I’m not strict enough with him. Is that what you’re saying?”

“He needs an authority figure, and with Eric so
wrapped up in his career—”

“He has you. Or he did. You haven’t given him the time
of day since you became involved with that tramp.”

“Keep Holly out of this.”

He mentally counted to ten. His fuse was short and
burning, his tolerance on the verge of incinerating completely. The doors Anna
had opened regarding Laura had been bad enough. The news about the Pieipoints
had driven him to the edge.

“I’m not Patrick’s father. He’s not my responsibility.
Neither are you. I’ve got enough problems in my life for ten men, Bev. I just
can’t handle one more burden on my shoulders—”

“That’s what we are to you?” she cried, her voice uncharacteristically
shrill, verging on hysterical. “A burden? After the years I’ve stood by you
during your rotten marriage and the nightmare of your family’s murders and
this is what I get in return? I’m a burden?”

He looked away. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at
all.”

“Of course it is.” She gave a sharp laugh. “How embarrassing
is that? And sobering. All these years I believed we actually meant something
to you. You’re no better than Eric. And your father. Wives are an unwanted but
necessary responsibility—”

“You’re not my wife, Beverly.”

She glared at him, her face blotched and her eyes hard
as stone. “And I never will be. Right?”

“Right.”

He left the chair. “I’ll speak to Patrick. But unless
you’re willing to get him into counseling—get him help— we can all talk until
we’re blue in the face, and it’s not going to do a damn bit of good. I’ve seen
enough boys like him paraded through the courts to know what I’m talking about.
He’s headed for big trouble, and if you don’t do something now, the next call
you make to me might very well be in an official capacity, to represent him
during a trial.”

“If my son needs a lawyer, it sure as hell wouldn’t be
a loser like you.”

Narrowing his eyes, he rewarded her with a flat smile.
“I’m going to forgive that nasty little jab because you’re upset. And
rightfully so. But if you don’t get a grip, sweetheart, you’ll have to take a
number to speak to me on the phone.”

Turning his back on her, he left the room, yanking the
loose tie from his neck and shoving it into his pocket as he climbed the
stairs, arriving at Patrick’s door to find it locked. He beat it with his fist.

The door slowly opened, Patrick’s eyes lit, and he
smiled. “Hey.”

“Don’t hey me, punk. I’m not in the mood for your
bullshit.”

J.D. shoved open the door and moved into the room,
which was a wreck of discarded clothes and scattered schoolbooks.

“Close the door,” he snapped, facing his sullen
nephew.

Patrick kicked the door closed and fell back against
it, hands jammed into his jeans pockets. “What’s up your ass?”

J.D. withdrew the photograph from his suit coat and
flung it at him. It fell, open, at his feet. “Mind telling me where you got
that garbage?”

“None of your business.”

“You got any more?”

“None of your business. If that’s all you came here
for, you can get the hell out.”

J.D. moved toward him, thrust one finger in his face. “Don’t
fuck with me, pal. I’m not your mother who’s going to run from the room in
tears and denial. I’ll whip your ass if I have to.”

Patrick’s eyes widened and he shrank back against the
door. “Hey, dude. Chill.”

“Answer me.”

“I found it. Okay?”

“Where?”

“Down by the river. There’s crates and crates of ‘em
in an old warehouse.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“You show me this warehouse.” Lowering his eyes, his
face flushing, Patrick shuffled his feet.

“You’re lying, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Someone gave it to me. One of the guys at
school.”

“Who? Give me a name.”

“I ain’t rattin’. Give me a break. Like I would do
that to one of my friends.”

“Seems you care more about screwing over a friend than
you do your family. Why is that?”

“Jeez, what’s the big deal? It’s just a photograph.”

“That’s not just a photograph. It’s sick and perverted
trash.”

“It was just a joke, J.D. That stupid teacher pissed
me off.”

“Well, your sick joke has gotten you kicked out of St.
Michael’s and you’ve broken your mother’s heart, not to mention humiliating
her.”

He shrugged and shoved away from the door, flopped
onto his bed, and stared at the ceiling. “Big deal. I hated St. Michael’s.”

“You might appreciate St. Michael’s a little more
after you spend the next three years at military school.”

“I ain’t going to no military school. Maybe I’ll just
quit school. Maybe I’ll just run away.”

“Maybe you’ll find your butt in prison after you’re
forced to steal or sell dope to survive. Maybe you’ll get up close and personal
to the creeps who participate in the kinds of perversion depicted in that
photograph. They’d get off on a young, good-looking ass like yours. You’d spend
half of your days and nights on your hands and knees accommodating those
sickos, pal.”

Patrick rolled to his side, his back to J.D. “At least
I finally got your attention, huh?”

J.D. closed his eyes, the anger draining from him,
leaving his head pounding and his stomach burning like hell’s fire. He dropped
onto the bed, stretched out on his back, and stared at the model planes
overhead, rotating at the end of the string.

“Sorry. We love you, kid. We just don’t want to see you
screw up your life. You’ve got too much going for you.”